


Guys My Age (NSFW)

by eratothemuse



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, NSFW, Oral Sex, Peter Hale being the absolute sugar daddy we all know he is, Smut, Unprotected Sex, like really NSFW yall, not safe for work, sorry im literal trash, the Theo/Reader is mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 07:26:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20503127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eratothemuse/pseuds/eratothemuse
Summary: You are determined to get your mind off of your now-ex, but what happens when you find your distraction in the arms of someone all too familiar, and how far will this go?





	Guys My Age (NSFW)

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: So, this has been literally sitting in my WIPs for months. Finally decided to finish it. Sorry, I was hella blocked for Peter, so this may be kind of boring in parts? Hope not, but oh well. Just really wanted to get this done lmaooooo

Gif sources: [1](https://megmeg-chan.tumblr.com/post/160509023317) | [2](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fgiphy.com%2Fgifs%2Fteen-wolf-twitter-pack-tFNCy4mX1LUmk&t=ODdhYzBlN2FmMDM5YjA3ZDM0YWJmNjMwNTk3ZmQxYTEwYzZiYTQ0MSxMUUtscFNRdQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AuNoi0AujsProexVbD5JsWA&p=https%3A%2F%2Fthranduilsperkybutt.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F187461971533%2Fguys-my-age-nsfw-gif-sources-1-2-3&m=0) | [3](http://yourjamesbuckybarnes.tumblr.com/post/178496609016)

* * *

Tonight you felt different, rejuvenated, as if a burden was lifted from your shoulders in the wake of your shredded relationship. You almost were doing this out of spite. Intent on showing him just what he’d lost, but also determined to prove to yourself that you could do so much better than Theo Raeken.**  
**

This lounge was somewhere you would have never gone to with him. It was classy, dark, and demanded its clientele dress up for the occasion of mingling within its aged brick walls and hardwood floors. A singer bellowed her smooth voice into the microphone, modern jazzy tones permeating the room and saturating the air with a low hum of almost indescribably electric energy. To the best of your knowledge, there were no witches mingling among you, but the atmosphere still held an air that was somewhat magical and mysterious.

Your eyes looked over the crowd that had accumulated tonight. You were one of the few twenty-somethings here, no doubt because of the prices it boasted. This would be the one and only drink you bought yourself tonight, but would definitely not be your last; you were going to make sure of that. Tonight, you weren’t looking for love. You were looking for an ego-boost. Something to get your mind off your recent breakup with Theo. You were on the rebound, and you were ready to crash, hard, into a preferably older man. Someone who was the opposite of Theo.

Your red lips sip from your straw slowly, savoring the taste of the fine liquor mixed within the light cocktail. It was nothing that was going to leave you drunk, maybe not even buzzed, with just enough alcohol to lace the fruitiness in its taste and leave you feeling refined, if anything else, as your eyes scope out the options this lounge offered.

Your resolve almost wavers when you spot him, having not expected to meet those familiar blue eyes here, of all places. Instead of following the nagging urge to give up this façade and leave at the sight of him, you instead cross your legs beneath the little black dress you were wearing, knowing full well how it rode up on the curve of your thighs, not budging an inch from your seat as you hold his gaze. This was the boldest you’d ever been, and you weren’t about to let that newfound confidence crumble so early in the evening.

Hell, you would be flat-out lying if you said you never thought about Peter Hale before. You had eyes, after all. It was undeniable that he was a gorgeous promise of a broken heart. He was a dangerous one, with how subtly he could turn the mood between you flirtatious and seductive, regardless of whose arm you happened to be on at the time. This wasn’t the first time you had noticed him take far too long of a moment to look you over, but never before had you been in the position to take him up on the interest between you, always caught up in a relationship that was certain to not last long. Maybe you hadn’t learned your lesson as well as you thought.

Even when you turn your head away from him, you feel his eyes watching you. You can’t say you were surprised. This was the first time he’d ever seen you in a dress like this, and you had been sure to look as close to cutthroat gorgeous as you’d ever been before leaving your apartment tonight.

You almost glee in the fact that another guy has sat in the barstool beside yours. He was a man closer to your own age, perhaps older by a year or two, and seemed intent on flirting with you until the bartender interrupted.

“This is from the guy at the end,” the bartender says, fully disinterested in whatever game it was you and Peter were playing as he sets another drink in front of you, right beside your now-empty cocktail glass, before nodding directly to where Peter was sat. This drink was a champagne, bubbling and most likely worth more than anything Theo had ever spent on you.

“Oh? Be sure to thank him for me,” you murmur, silently enjoying the annoyance the guy beside you shows at how easily your attention is drawn away by Peter. Giving up, the other guy stands from the seat to move on when you tilt your glass gratefully at the dark-haired werewolf.

Peter shoots you a smirk before getting up, moving alongside the crowded bar to occupy the now-vacant seat beside you.

“Didn’t expect to see you here. Didn’t think this kind of place was your style,” Peter begins, already leaning closer than was friendly. “I thought you and Theo were interested in more casual places.”

You wonder if you surprise him with how accepting you are of his proximity tonight, “Theo may be, but I’ve found myself craving something more…” you search for the word, drinking in the up-close sight of him when you do, “distinguished, these days.”

Damn, did you have to admit that Peter looked good tonight. It was as if he were a tall glass of water, and you’d been lost in the desert for a week. A signature black v-neck hung perfectly on his chest, framed by the Italian leather of a jacket that you suspected was new, as you would have noticed it on those broad shoulders if he had worn it before. His pants were dark, too, but more on the dressy end considering where you were. It was just about as dressed up as you’d ever seen him, to be honest.

“I’m surprised Theo is letting you satisfy your _cravings_,” Peter hums casually, as if there wasn’t an underlying insinuation to his words. His eyes ghost over the crowd, as if to give off an air of disinterest, but the perk to his ears gives away how he was truly listening for your answer. You’d been around werewolves long enough to know when they were listening for something, and while Peter was typically unreadable, tonight he doesn’t fool you.

“Theo doesn’t _let_ me do anything,” was that venom lacing your voice? You swallow it back with another sip of the drink Peter bought, tasting the carbonation of the champagne as it bursts and bubbles on your tongue, “He has no say in what I do anymore. We’re officially over— done.”

For once, you think you see a hint of surprise in the eyebrow that raises, “Really? Trouble in paradise?” With another sip of your drink, you meet Peter’s questioning gaze with an annoyed one. You both knew he didn’t really give a damn about your relationship with Theo, and you’re growing tired of the foreplay.

“I didn’t come here to talk about Theo all night.”

“Well, why did you come here, sweetheart?” the look he gives you is wolfish, his smirk laced with unsaid intent. As if he could eat you up at any minute.

This time, that’s exactly what you willing to let him do.

There’s a dare in your voice when you lower it, “If you can’t figure that out, then maybe you’re just as clueless as Theo.”

He bites back the low rumble of a growl in his chest, but you’re still close enough to hear it. It was inhuman, threatening of a wildness just bubbling under the surface of his composure, and a major turn-on. The sound sends you to the edge of your seat, leaning further into him as you feel your stomach clench with the excitement you hoped he couldn’t sense, but you’re certain he can scent your arousal by now. When did his hand find its grip on your thigh? Possibly when you found your knees between his own.

Peter gives you a single warning, “You’re in over your head, sweetheart. I don’t think you know what you’re getting yourself into.”

Maybe you didn’t. Maybe that was half the fun of it.

When you meet his eyes, you’re don’t let the fact that he might be right show through, “I think I can handle you, Hale.”

“I’m not one of your little boyfriends, sweetheart. I’m not going to play nice, if that’s what you’re looking for,” he begins, and you finally realize just how close his face was to your own, his other hand gripping the back of your barstool and successfully caging you in with his body. As casually as you can, you reach for another sip of your champagne at his expense, before sitting it down and scooting it to the other end of the bar, signifying you were finished with it.

“That’s the whole point,” when your eyes slip back to his, you notice the slight glow that your words elicit, bright blue lasting just an instant, but it was there, “I’ve never been into nice boys, Peter, and honestly, right now? I’m thinking I’m ready to graduate from _boys_.” The emphasis you leave him with gets your point across perfectly, earning an amused smirk from Peter.

He gives a slight nod, offering a chuckle, “Fair enough,” before leaning away from you and standing from his stool, only to leave a tip for the bartender that was far more than you’d ever seen someone lay down. His hand lingers on the back of your chair as he leans towards you, breath brushing against your shoulder with his closeness as he keeps his voice low for only you to hear, “Let’s get this straight right here and now, sweetheart. If you come with me, I’m going to take you home with me. Feel free to back out, if this is more than you bargained for, and we can go back to pretending like you don’t want me to give you the night of your life. Otherwise,” Peter pauses as you watch him, waiting for whatever he’ll say next, and already knowing you would agree to whatever terms he lays out for tonight, “I’m willing to give you it.”

“You’re cocky, Hale,” you hum, unable to keep yourself from leaning into him a bit.

“Maybe, but I’m not wrong, am I?” he murmurs, “I know you want this just as much as I do.”

“No strings attached, right? Isn’t that your thing when you take women home with you?”

“You say that like you think I take women home often,” despite the faux offense in his tone, you aren’t naïve enough to believe he hasn’t done this before. “I’m not a philanderer.”

_Yeah, right._

“Aren’t you?” But you don’t expect an answer, instead leading right into your own stipulations for tonight, “I want something that doesn’t get complicated after tonight. Can you give me that?”

“If that’s what you want,” Peter accepts, “this can be a one-time thing.” He crosses his heart with his finger jokingly, “Promise I won’t fall in love, sweetheart.”

You can’t help your laugh at the idea, “Good.” You find his hand, taking it as you slip from the barstool and allow your lips to brush against the curve of his jaw when you whisper near his ear, “Take me home, then, Peter.”

“Gladly,” his arm slips around your waist as if it was a familiar motion, as if this wasn’t the first time you were letting him touch you like this. There was a confidence that oozed from him as he led you towards the exit, holding you so close into his side that his warmth practically radiated down to your bones.

This is when the nervousness sets in, when your palms begin to sweat against the faux leather of your clutch. You were really doing this. Of all the reckless things you’ve done, this has to take the cake, and the worst part is, you weren’t regretful in the least. You were excited. Your breathing quickened along with your heartbeat as you walked beside him, thinking of just what, exactly, you had agreed to.

You’re only brought back to reality when the sound of a light beeping alerts you to the fact that you had made it to Peter’s car. You realize this will be the first time you’ve ever rode in it. You make your way to it, caught off-guard when Peter opens your door for you.

Raising a single brow at him, you earn a roll of his eyes in return, “What?”

“Just… very gentlemanly, is all,” you joke, not passing up a chance to tease him, before slipping into the passenger side.

“Don’t mistake me with your usual lovers, sweetheart; I happen to have class,” is all he comments confidently in return, before shutting the door after you. For the moment it takes him to make it to the opposite side of the car, you find yourself recovering from the flirty look he’d left you with, right up until he shuts the driver’s side door and leans over into your side of the car to capture your lips with his own.

His hand finds your throat immediately, resting there and coaxing you into his kiss. You’re lost in how different it is, kissing someone other than Theo. Kissing _Peter Hale_.

His chin scrapes along your jaw, wiry hairs of his perpetual five-o-clock shadow scratching you deliciously. Theo’s face had been kept smoother, you compare in the back of your mind. Peter’s lips slip against your own, practiced and certain, with a simmering edge that could only be the want washing over you, waiting to drown you entirely should you keep this up much longer. And, God, he smelled amazing. Clean like a forest after the rain, accentuated by a cologne that must cost more than your dress, and a warm, sweet tone that was more subtle to your human nose than it would be to any werewolf. Probably his scent, you decide.

You nip at Peter’s lip gently, earning a groan into your lips that has him breaking the kiss to watch you with a newfound glint in his oceanic irises.

You hope Theo will be able to smell him on you when you finally came by to get your stuff tomorrow.

“Let’s go, Alpha,” you tease, urging at a soft spot you knew Peter to have and earning the response you anticipated all the same, “I wanna’ see your lair.”

“You know, I have half a mind to take you in this car first,” he growls into your ear, before unraveling himself from your side of the car to lean back into the leather of his driver’s seat, “too bad it isn’t big enough for what I’m going to do to you.”

Do you audibly gasp at that? A heat rising through your body from your aching cunt, you don’t even have the chance to collect yourself from his damnable smirk, all white teeth and canines in his profile, before the sports car hums to life and Peter zips you from the lot as if a man on a mission.

Halfway down the road, his hand creeping up your inner thigh to bunch your dress around your hips, you remember your seatbelt.

“Peter,” whispers needily from your lips as he pulls to an abrupt stop, taking the fingers which had been dancing along the lace of your panties with him.

With a heated glance and a playful smirk, he reaches across you to open your door, all wolfish charm and unanswered promises, “You wanted to see my lair, sweetheart? Let’s see it.”

And just like that he’s exiting the driver’s side, leaving you to fumble at the seatbelt and still beating you to your side in time to help you once you were halfway out of the car. He seems particularly smug as he watches you try to maintain a shred of dignity by pulling back down your dress to at least cover most of your thighs. You roll your eyes. Damn werewolves.

Hand returning to the small of your back, he pulls you to him, slipping you against him as if you’d been molded to fit there. His lips blaze across your neck, making it difficult to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other, but thankfully Peter seems to know where you were going, as he leads you into a swanky looking complex in the heart of downtown Beacon Hills.

It even has a doorman, who you sheepishly look at as you pass with Peter latched to your hip, though he doesn’t say a word other than, “Welcome home.”

Money could pay for privacy, it seemed.

The elevator you get to is glass on the front, allowing you to see each floor as you pass. You hadn’t even noticed which floor he’d pressed until his distraction is lifted by the dinging of the elevator.

That’s when your foggy mind distantly remembers him saying he had a penthouse apartment.

Elevator opening, Peter’s hand finds your own to pull you towards a lone door at the end of a short hallway. He unlocks it easily, before pushing the door open with a flourish that would have been comical if it came from anyone other than him.

“As dastardly as you hoped?” he calls after you as you step foot inside. You hear him shut and lock the door behind you, but you’re not fully broken from your observation of his home until his arms slip around your waist, pulling you into his chest.

“Definitely sinister,” the sarcasm there has Peter chuckling into your shoulder as your fingers splay along the back of a black leather couch.

It was beautiful, in a modernistic sort of way that you wouldn’t have thought to suit him until you saw it for yourself. It was all whites, greys, and browns, decorated immaculately along the brick and hardwood bare bones of it, and nothing compared to the clutter of your own home. The only clutter of note were the books littering a mid-century styled bookshelf that ran the length of the far wall, and the few scattered along the oval coffee table, marble, in the center of the open-concept living space.

_Chip and Joanna Gaines, eat your heart out._

You turn in his grasp, pushing at the leather along his shoulders and watching as his eyes go dark once more. You wanted him to take you in this perfect space, along a piece of furniture that was probably an authentic antique, judging from his tastes. Peter lets you strip him of his jacket, placing it along the back of his ridiculous couch as he easily tugs his v-neck overhead, depositing it more carelessly than you had with his jacket, onto the floor.

“Your turn,” he murmurs against your lips hotly, hands slipping up the length of your back to where the zipper of your dress hung between your shoulderblades. In a smooth, languid motion he unzips you, hand dipping beneath the fabric at the end of the zipper to flatten against the bare skin of your lower back, just above where the curve of your hips started. He presses down as your straps slack along your shoulders, easing your dress to fall to your ankles with little effort.

And there you are, standing in front of him, nothing but your best pair of lace underwear to cover you. You’re so, _so_ glad you decided to wear this, if only for the way he looks at you in that moment, all glazed over and lips parted, as if you’ve finally managed to stun the Big Bad Wolf into silence. It doesn’t last long, as your hands reach behind your back in time with your step towards him, out of your dress as you let your bra fall with the click of your clasp undoing.

Peter’s warm hands find the bare flesh of your ass, right beneath where your panties failed to cover, “You look beautiful, sweetheart.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls you bring to your lair,” you bite back at him, a playful nip to his jaw before your lips trail down his neck. His chuckle is cut short by his groan, his hands gripping firmly at you when you suck at the curve of his neck and shoulder. You know any mark you leave will be gone in moments, but you still enjoy his response nonetheless, pulling back only to tease, “Sensitive, huh?”

“Oh, you are so going to get it,” Peter’s growl rumbles low in his chest, sending wet hot arousal coursing through you in a way you just _know_ has probably permeated the room.

“Been waiting for you to give it to me, Hale,” you know your tongue is going to get you in trouble one day, but any punishment from him will be a blessing right now.

His mouth finds yours, more needy than before. A hunger in the kiss that has you mewling into it, his hands roaming your body greedily until he finally becomes annoyed enough with your panties to remove them entirely, letting them fall to your feet where his own pants soon follow at your own hand, buckle and all. In one fluid movement, Peter’s kneads your thighs, hoisting you into his arms so quickly that you gasp out a yelp into the kiss that sounds muffled to your ears.

Even though you can’t see him, being as preoccupied with his lips as you were, you sure as hell can _feel_ him. He was hard between your thighs, length bobbing against your skin with each step deeper into his home. You arch against him in an attempt to have some form of relief, some friction between your legs, but it does little until he deposits you backwards so abruptly that you squeal involuntarily at the drop.

He grins down at you, when you hit silk, blinking as you realize the change of scenery. This was his bedroom, you piece together, fingers smoothing along the silk sheets and pushing yourself by your heels up the length of the California King bed. He kneels into the mattress, moving over you to grasp at your calves and drag you back down to him, silk bunching under your body at the movement. His hands part your legs, settling his body between as if he were made for it.

“C’mere. I told you, I’m not going to play nice,” he murmurs before tasting your lips once more, leaving you breathless with the way he torturously grinds the length of his cock along your wet core, nudging at your clit with each leisurely draw of his hips. You’re whimpering pathetically into his mouth by the time he’s satisfied with you, your nails raking down his back and causing him to snap his hips forward involuntarily.

He gasps against your lips, panting and just as wrecked as you, regardless of how he tried not to show it.

You lap at them, all red and kiss stained, “Good, ‘cause I don’t want to play nice tonight either, Peter.”

He grins down at you, before burning a trail down your form with his mouth and tongue, settling only when he’s between your thighs, “Oh, you are _so_ going to regret that, sweetheart.” You’re about to bite back when he, without warning, mouths over the length of you, licking along your folds before his tongue settles on the most sensitive bundle of nerves adorning them. He doesn’t hold back at all, burying his face into you and his nose as you drip down his chin. He licks back, fingers spreading you, to lick up into you and force a— what even was that sound?— from your throat.

Theo had never eaten you out like this. He was always reluctant, from the start, only doing the bare minimum to get you wet and ready for him. No way would he have ever pressed his face into you like Peter was doing now, and so _expertly_—

You cry out when you feel him slip a long digit within you, tongue abusing your clit and a chuckle erupting in a fabulous vibration against your sensitive body, rumbling all the way to your toes until they curl around his shoulders. They were digging in, weren’t they? Your heels.

His name falls from your lips at his ruthless pace, a second finger following the first and curling— your calves clench around his arms, urging him closer, if that was at all possible. You make the mistake of looking down at him, catching his lecherous glare as it splays the length of you, eyes flashing an inhuman blue undoubtedly for your benefit.

“God, fuck, Peter, I’m going to cum— I’m going to cum all over your face if you don’t—”

His teeth graze your clit, and you’re done for, hips staggering in his grip as your heels dig into his back in a way that would probably have been painful, had he not been a werewolf. His name meets incoherent curses as they wrap around the moans and whimpers escaping you in the midst of your climax, his fingers relentless against you until your body unfurls around him to collapse against his sheets. Your could hear your heart pounding in your ears, breaths wrenching from you in labored gulps, still entirely too sensitive and twitching until his mouth finally abandons you with one final lick.

“You know how pretty you look when you cum like that, sweetheart?” his voice is like velvet, washing over you as his hands brush the hair from your face. You can’t talk yet, and he knows that, satisfied with your incoherent whine.

“Holy, shit, Peter,” you murmur when you finally do catch your breath. “Do you know how good at that you are?” You regret the question as soon as it slips through your silly lips, if only for the sole reason that it puffed up his ego even more than your hasty climax at his hands had. His smug jaw told you the answer before he even said a thing; far be it from him not to bask in a compliment.

“I have had some fond reviews in the past.”

“I’ll bet,” you hum, arching against him in an effective distraction with the way your chest pressed, soft and tempting, at his own. The moment is all you need to push and turn him, landing you effectively sitting on top. He blinks up at you from the mattress, as if bewildered you’d managed to pull one over on him. You circle his hips with yours before he can think to reposition you again, “I have a few tricks of my own, Alpha.”

Peter’s grip finds your waist— painfully tight, but you’re glad for the marks it will leave in the morning.

He taunts up at you, probably just to see your reaction, “You learn them from Theo?”

With a hand on his chest, you slow your torturous grind, getting something akin to a snarl of warning from the werewolf beneath you, “I perfected them, way before I met him.”

“Bet I could show you a few new tricks,” Peter chuckles, grips you tight and pistons his hips to drag the head of his cock along your clit.

“What was that,” you gasp involuntarily, but grin around your tease, “they say about old dogs?”

He surges upwards, hand finding your back— the only thing keeping you from slipping off him at the sudden movement— as he shifts the position to where he was on his knees, you sitting along his lap and flush against the weight of his dick with the assistance of gravity and the way he’d thrown you off balance, “Am I gonna’ have to shut that smart mouth of yours up myself, sweetheart?” His hand winds around you, grasping the base of his cock to press it harshly against your folds, pushing just the head against your entrance. You breathe heavily at the contact, a shudder ripping through you and sending you grasping onto his shoulders like a reflex, like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to this world.

Still, you can’t help your sharp tongue, “Was wondering when you were gonna’.”

Peter’s growl is playful, enticing, and just enough to send the sound straight to your cunt in the split second between the lick of his lips and the press of his length within you. He’s thick, foreign to what you’re used to, and far more straightforward with how he urges you onto him, in slight little rocks of his hips that have him inching deeper on each thrust. Forcing himself into you with a part of his lips and a completely erotic expression along his face, which you were sure mirrored your own.

Peter had only ever looked like this in your dreams, and you hardly had an imagination that was as good as the real thing.

“Oh,” is all you can manage when he’s sheathed, fully within you, your lips ghosting over the harsh line of his jaw, “_Peter_.” You feel him swallow against your hand, resting at the nape of the perfect throat, bared to your lips in a way that forced you to circle against his hips, wrenching a groan from behind his teeth.

“Damn,” he curses, snapping his hips to you and finding a grip on your shoulder, forcing you into his thrust, “you feel amazing.” Your hand falls down his chest, fingertips pressing against his abdomen as you rut against him, biting back your whimpers behind your lip.

A startled yelp, as he throws the both of you into the sheets, hovering over you and pushing himself deep in a forceful thrust that has you seeing stars, grabbing your knees in the crooks of his arms, “Don’t go quiet on me now,” Peter’s chuckle is parted, separated by the timing of his thrusts, “sweetheart.”

You whine, openly wrecked as he sets his pace, your fingers reaching for your clit and finding their glorious purchase rubbing practiced circles there. The feeling is intense, him pulling out nearly entirely, only to send the length of him to hit you deep with every quick thrust. Your fingers falter with his rhythm, knuckles brushing against the wiry hairs along his abdomen whenever he meets your hips, arched as if begging him for more.

“Come on, now, let me hear you, darling,” his teeth drag along your throat, and in the haze of your mind you would sweat they feel like fangs. You give him what he wants, with little expense to your pride. There was no room for that, here, anyway. His name along your lips, you beg him in every way you know how. More, harder, just like that.

And he gives it to you, laving his mouth along the skin of your throat, your shoulders, your chest— you know you’ll be littered with marks in the morning, but you can’t care about that at all right now, not with how perfectly he’s fucking you into the mattress.

“Peter—!” your breath hitches, you feel yourself pulsing, spasming around him as you feel your orgasm, just beyond reach. And he pulls out, a growl at his lips as you protest with a startled, “N-No—!”

But he turns you roughly, flipping you as if you were weightless. Your face lands in the silk, finding it damp with the sweat of your exertion as he drags your hips up. Within the span of a second, he’s pushed inside of you once more, hitting you at an angle that has you jumping with the electricity that shoots up your spine. You don’t even recognize the moan he wrenches from your throat, but you know that it’s you making such a noise.

“Found it,” he taunts, a husky grumble of amusement that dies as his pace picks up once again. All you can do is grasp the sheets for dear life, mind going blank as you gasp and moan and _beg_ him incoherently for release. His nails scrape down your back to dig into the flesh of your ass, blunt and desperate, pushing your body into the mattress.

Beyond the sound of your own catastrophic need, you hear his voice, broken and heady as you both cannot possibly last much longer, “Such a good girl, taking me so good.” You clench around him at the praise, an appreciative moan leaving you, betraying how much you like it. His fingers slip beneath you, along the curve of your stomach, finding your cunt to search for your clit. But you’re so wet, his fingers slip, making you whine and beg as they brush just past where you need him.

“Please, Peter, please, please, _please_,” you break off, gasping as he achieves his goal, finding his grip between his index and middle finger and _pressing_ in just the right way. You feel the coil in your belly snap, sending you hurtling towards your climax as his own thrusts become sporadic and sloppy.

“Cum for me,” it’s as close to begging as you’ve ever heard him, soft and wrecked behind your ear. You can’t think, just bury your face into the sheets as you try to breathe through the intense orgasm that rips through you. “Oh, _fuck_,” Peter moans against the back of your shoulder, right against your neck, pulling out quickly to spill his own climax along the once-immaculate mess of his silk sheets.

He collapses onto you, a welcome weight pressing you down in a possessive manner that you crave in the aftermath of what was just shared between you. Peter’s tongue kisses along your bare shoulder, his fingertips running along your sides. You mewl into the sheets, a feeling of arousal dull, throbbing between your legs.

When he was fully satisfied with his abuse of your skin, he rolls off of you, meeting your gaze with an utterly sexed out one of his own, “Enjoy yourself, sweetheart?”

You don’t think you’ll ever be able to hear him call you that again and it not send the warmth of his arousal spreading through your body.

With a lick of your lips, you hum with a dreamy contentedness, the knowledge that he had absolutely ruined you gnawing at the back of your mind as your heart clenched in your chest, “_Yeah_.”

_Man, were you in over your head._


End file.
